


Wing Man

by inverted_typo



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, awesome ass dad, blind dates, first dates too, gay boys are great
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-11 22:48:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2086047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inverted_typo/pseuds/inverted_typo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jean's dad is the best wing-man to have ever graced the planet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wing Man

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to my beloved big sister GrapeJellyFish for editing and beta'ing with me!! I couldn't do it without you! 
> 
> I TOLD YOU I'D WRITE THIS AU. I FUCKING TOLD YOU

"Jean. Jean. Jean. ... Jean."

Curious eyes peered over the horizon of the bunk bed at the large mass of existence that was, somehow, a teenage boy. The man continued without a beat, chanting the name while still digging his calloused finger into the soft cheek of his son.

"Jean. Jean. Jean."

The little mound of existence stirred slightly, burying his face deeper into the depths of his pillow, keeping that persistent finger from puncturing his face again.

"Jean. Jean. Jean."

The mound twisted a bit, a groan emitting deep from within the confines of the cloth cocoon. Honey-tinted eyes eventually peered sleepily at hazel ones. They darted to the lowly lit screen of a charging cell phone, blurry shapes slowly conforming to the numbers two and thirty three. Jean squinted, mumbling incoherently.

He presumes he's probably supposed to be mad or something, but seriously, it's even too early to feel much except hazy and utterly discombobulated.

"Th' h'll do you w'nt, old man? It's f'cking two th'rty...n the m'rning..."

"What's your type, son?"

Jean smacked his lips together, turning his head into his pillow to muffle a yawn.Type...type...writer. Typewriter. Typo. Typography. Tapioca. It's all the same thing at two thirty in the morning.  The cogwheels in his head didn't even consider trying to turn one full rotation.  Rude.

"Wh...wh't type...?"

"Your type!"

"...O'what...?"

"Boy!"

"...Girl?"

A low and boisterous laugh burst through the older man's lips. Jean blinked once, twice, twice and a half. Ugh.

"You already tried that and it didn't work, remember?"

"R'lly? Wh' not?"

"Hell if I know but it didn't. So. Tell me. Your type. Right now. Serious? Energetic? Feminine? Extra, extra manly? Blonde? Asian?"

Jean whined loudly and managed to shove his hand into his father's face. Maybe he could smudge his expression into something less excited, or fuck it up so bad it would look like a ten year old got a hold of photoshop and used the smear tool.

"You kn'w what, Dad. J'st....Just go....n make yourself two A.M p'ncakes. Don't...don't talk to me. L'ke...ever...t'day..."

His father pouted and impatiently kicked the bottom support of the bunk bed.

"Loser," he snorted.

"S'me to you, Pop."

* * *

 

"Really? Do you think he was drunk?" Connie mused.

He inspected himself in the mirror, deciphering if the more square sunglasses looked better. Jean shook his head, shoving him a rounder pair.

"Naw. He was just excited. About what or why, I can't really tell you because I don't really know. I don't ever know."

The baldy struck a few poses, peeking over the rims of the sunglasses he was now sporting.

"Jean, your dad gets excited when peanut butter goes on sale. It could have literally been anything."

Nodding a silent touché, Jean slumped back on the wall next to the mirror. He twirled the glasses rack around, seeing if there was anything he was particularly drawn to. Ehh...sunglasses never really were his thing. He never thought he could actually get away with it.

"Well he did ask me about something that related to types? What type of girl I was or something stupid. I mean he probably didn't say that exactly but..."

Connie sputtered, "What type of girl you are?”

He cackled, slapping a hand over his mouth to gulp them back down. “And I thought you didn't listen when you were fully awake!"

"Connie, it was two in the morning! Like, hell, as if you're any better anyways. Everyone's always getting after your ass for forgetting shit," Jean countered eyes lighting up mischievously. He stepped closer to the other boy, grinning widely now. "What did we just have for lunch?"

Connie scowled. "Shitty ass burritos at that one place."

"...That must have been your breakfast because we literally just came back from Burger King." Jean hummed, an air of pretension wrapping it’s way around his smug demeanor.

"Whatever, man.” Connie turned back to check himself out once again in the mirror. “Maybe your dad is being weird because he's adjusting to you coming out? I mean, you came out like what, three, four months ago? Could take some getting used to, y'know?"

Jean scrunched up his nose, eyebrows knitting to form a scowl.

It could be that...but...his dad was pretty good about speaking his mind. Jean figured, if there was any issue at all, he would have known about it.

Oh yeah.

And that happened;

"Did you know he bet on my sexuality?" Jean inquired.

"What! How? And with who?" Connie turned to face his companion again, the tag on his tacky sunglasses hitting him in the face as he spun around.

"Yeah he bet that I was probably gay even though I never really let on that I could have been. I blame some weird dad power. He made the bet with my Grandma. She really liked Mikasa, you know, so she was all old-lady-grumpy-like when I broke up with her.” Jean shrugged, shoving his hands roughly into his pockets. “Dad got two hundred bucks from that bet," Jean whistled, "Bought himself some fancy pool balls."

Connie peered at him through rum-tinted lenses, his mouth a thin line.

"Well that’s ironic.”

Jean frowned. “What?”

Waggling his eyebrows dramatically, Connie’s expression shifted, “He got himself some balls with the money his gay son earned him?”  
Jean paled.

“Shut the fuck up, Connie! God dammit.”

Connie laughed, “What even is your family, Jean?"

"Amazing."

* * *

 

Jean was happy. Like...really happy.

He smiled eagerly as he flipped the beautifully golden grilled cheese sandwich in his pan to perfection. He already had quite an impressive accumulation of potato chips piled high on his plate, along with a nice cold coke and a straw wedged in between the ice cubes.

Lunch is great.

Lunch is life.

The front door clattered open as his father wobbled his way awkwardly into the house. Jean peaked around the corner of the kitchen.

“Whatcha cooking, Jeanbo?” his father’s loud voice boomed, his smile evident without Jean even having to look.

“Don’t call me that!”

“Oh, sorry. That’s strictly a Mom Thing isn’t it?”

Jean rolled his eyes. His father, with a bit of a gut, waddled into the kitchen, briefcase and sack of lunch in tow. His Man Purse (it’s a satchel, Jean! I keep telling you that!) dangled from his shoulder.

Plopping most of the contents on the counter, his father happily situated himself at the table, placing down his own food items.

“Sit down and have lunch with your old man, boy! It’s been forever since I’ve had time to drop by home before going back to work, you know?” he insisted.

A large burger was hauled from a greasy paper sack.

Obediently, Jean slid his golden sandwich onto his plate and mosied to the table.

As Jean sat down, he bit eagerly into the crispy bread and oozy cheese of his beloved sandwich. Flavor and warmth and cheese filled his mouth. His eyes almost rolled into the back of his head.

It was very clear to Jean that his spiritual connection to grilled cheese hadn’t wavered an ounce in the last 24 hours.

“Oh, by the way,” His father’s voice cut into Jean’s moment, catching his attention rather effectively. “you have a romantic date this Saturday at noon. Dress to impress!”

Wet masses of half chewed bread projected themselves from out of Jean ’s mouth. Chunks of crust and thick globs of cheese clung to the sides of his throat. He began to wheeze and cough, his fist pounding the table as he scrambled for his drink. His face flushed with red, sweat beading at his hairline. He was probably about to die. Jean managed to yank his cola to his lips and suck the life out of it with that striped plastic straw. He then hacked up a few more coughs before inhaling sharply.

“I have a what!”

“A date with Marco Bodt!”

Jean took a few deep breathes, still coming down from the near-death experience that his dad had watched so calmly from his seat across the table.

“Who the hell is Marco Bodt? And why the fuck do I have a date with him! I sure as hell don’t remember being asked out by anyone, or asking anyone out myself!” Jean spat incredulously.

Mr. Kirschtein’s grin grew wider, eyes sparkling. “You don’t remember me telling you about him?”

Jean blinked a few times, internally debating whether or not to smash that huge quarter pounder into his dad’s new starched business shirt.

“I know that look, Dad. You know you didn’t tell me about this Marco guy,” an accusing finger pointed directly at a piece of lettuce hanging from his dad’s lip.

Wiping his mouth with a napkin, the older man situated himself calmly, placing the burger carefully on its shiny aluminum wrapper.

“Well, for starters, his mother and I work together back at the office. While I go out in the field and what not fixing computers, she does in-office operating. So like remote stuff."

Jean gawked.

"Anyways, she and I have been talking for months, just as buddies. A few days ago she was complaining about how her son, Marco, never takes the initiative in his love life. When I asked her to specify, she said he was always telling her about these cute guys he finds popping up in his life or something, but he never tries to make a move.

So, his complaining is starting to tick her off because she said, 'I’m sure I raised a more outgoing son than that!' So then I thought, ‘Hey! My son is gay, too! Maybe they could do stuff and be boyfriends or something!’ I said how you’re probably not gonna get around to getting a boyfriend any time soon, no offense, so we decided you two should give it a try!”

Jean peered at his father, eye twitching. He glanced down at his sandwich.

Well shit.

Eating another grilled sandwich after this experience may have permanently just been ruined.

Jean pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I should get emancipated,” he muttered.

“Oh come on, Jean. One date won’t kill you. It’s not like you haven’t gone on them before.”

“I’ve only been on like one other date with a guy, though! That alone was super awkward enough. This is still super new to me, Dad! I mean--being gay is great and all--but like, I’m not really sure I know how to do it right, yet? So I find it really hard to be jumping with joy about the fact my straight ass dad found me a date before I could!” Jean sputtered, jumping up and motioning to himself.

He took another deep breath, grabbing a potato chip to pop into his mouth (it’s still lunch time, yo. And teenage boys are hungry).

This was all still really new to Jean. The whole being openly gay thing.

He had gone on one date with some guy nearly a month and a half ago. The fact alone that that guy, was also gay was a miracle in and of itself.

Jean had no sense of a gaydar and always found himself rolling the dice when he spotted someone of potential interest.

The date went fine, as any first date could go, Jean supposed.

They had gone to a pretty basic dinner at one of those Olive Garden type places. Had some laughs but didn’t really seem too awfully interested in one another. Conversation stayed pretty generic also.

They did kiss, but it was more so experimental than fueled by anything more than that. To Jean, it felt like they just sort of used the fact that they were on a date as an excuse to kiss at all.

After the date, and one awkward phone call later, the two decided it just wasn’t a thing between them.

That experience alone set Jean’s confidence awry. He didn’t know what to expect from other people, what kind of people he would be interested in, or how to really find someone that was gay. It made him consider keeping the idea of dating on the back burner, at least until he could figure everything about himself out. Maybe one day he would sit down and re-evaluate the basics of dating someone… now was not that time.

But apparently that plan backfired, now that his dad had decided to go boy-hunting for him.

Thanks, Dad...

His father put his hands up in defense, seeming to realize how upset and uncertain Jean really was about all of this. His son’s alarmed face read loud and clear.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I just was trying to help you," he folded his hand back across the table as he spoke, “But honestly, Jean. If you’re trying to get comfortable with the whole thing, you have to test the waters. The waters don’t test themselves. And how do you expect to get comfortable without even giving it a try?

You need to know about the people you do like and don’t like so at least you’re not stepping into it blind and getting wrapped up with someone you’re not happy with.

It’s new to me, too, son. I didn’t think of your sexuality at all until about a year ago. I’m just trying to be supportive, and if this isn’t the way, then I’ll stop.

But for this one time, maybe you could see things through?” his father suggested, tone calm, though his volume carried loud and clear.

“‘Not stepping into it blind’,” Jean huffed, his arms crossed, “says the one who set me up on a blind date.”

His father smirked, “You gotta start somewhere.”

There was a moment of silence. Jean still standing, chewing his bottom lip thoughtfully. His father patiently waited, watching his son carefully.  

An exasperated sigh leaked out of him.

“Okay. Yeah...okay. I’ll go on the date,” Jean surrendered, “One date won’t kill me, like you said... I guess.”

He took his plate and began to leave to his room, Jean’s dad smiling in appreciation.

Mr. Kirschstein could’ve sworn, that a momentary flicker of a smile flashed across Jean’s face before he turned away.

* * *

The date was arranged for them to go to the city’s aquarium, sparing time to go out and eat if they decided to do so later.

Jean’s dad was like a nagging mom, telling him not to wear something too fancy “but something not so casual and hoodie-like.”

Jean nearly beat the crap out of him with the spare tennis racket he found lying about.

“Stop acting like you’re actually giving me useful advice!”

A slug in the arm later and Jean managed to evolve into some form of a presentable human being.

“Now, Marco will meet you there. He’s taking the bus since his car’s in the shop,” Jean’s dad reminded him, patting him heartily on the back.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just go do whatever your lazy ass does when I’m gone.”

The young man grabbed his keys and hopped into his jeep. He waved at his dad before pulling out of the driveway.

* * *

 

Jean really had no idea what kind of person he needed to keep an eye out for. His dad only continued chanting, “Freckles. Freckles. Freckles.” whenever the question arose.

Using that as a good basis to work from, Jean made a bet that the guy definitely had freckles. Maybe he was a redhead. That’d be interesting. Or maybe he was one of those super pale people with a lot freckles. He really had no idea why nature decided to sprinkle a bunch of pepper on those types of people before they were born.

Either way.

Jean checked his phone.

12:15.

The busses were notorious for being a bit late… Jean’s stomach had decided in the last twenty minutes that it would take a career path change and become an outstanding acrobat contortionist mix. He was sitting on one of those benches outside of the aquarium, hoping to keep his stomach calm.

His leg vibrated with anticipation as he bounced it unknowingly. He found himself checking his phone nearly every thirty seconds in hopes that somehow, the device would make this Marco guy appear faster.

Anxiety, eagerness and a dash of excitement consumed Jean.

This was getting ridiculous.

“Jean? Jean Kirschtein?”

His head shot up to a very full sounding voice. A young man, dotted in freckles (bingo), stood before him. He smiled wide, though it was still a bit tentative in ambiance.

Jean gave him a quick examination.

He was tall with a sturdy bone structure, long legs, and lean arms, but he was full. His eyes were gentle, wide and curious. His face was round and his expression incredibly welcoming. Dark brown hair was perfectly split in the middle, with two little tufts of the stuff hanging above his eyebrows.

Jean would be lying if he said he didn’t find this boy handsome.

Despite his exceptionally attractive physical features, Jean couldn’t help but notice one peculiar thing.

Marco was wearing a fanny pack.

It had a small turtle keychain clinking from the zipper.

God damn it.

* * *

 

“Oh my God I just love stingrays!” Marco cooed, pressing his forehead against the glass tube surrounding them. He smiled wide as a giant stingray glided above the surface right above them. It’s gills pulsed and its wings cascaded gracefully as it slid down the sides of the enclosure.

Jean found himself constantly standing as close to Marco as was acceptable without holding hands or touching. These last two hours, Jean learned how much he loved being near Marco.

Marco was always seemed so excited and thrilled at the enclosures. He would eagerly press himself as close as he could to get a better view of the aquatic life. If there were kids near by, he’d playfully engage them with questions or simple facts about the fish, under the close supervision from their parents, of course.

If he wanted to take a picture of an exhibit, Marco would pull out a small digital camera from his stupid fanny pack and enthusiastically twist around to achieve the best angles.

Jean would always bring up some sort of smart-ass comment or observation about odd looking fish and Marco would, without any hesitation, pipe up and add to the conversation. They laughed a lot and when speaking to each other, their gazes would lock. It felt like nothing else mattered outside of what the other was saying at that given moment.

Jean had never really felt so involved with one singular person before. At least with someone he had just met. It didn’t even really feel like any flirting was happening. Although, he couldn’t help but notice when Marco would go out of his way to stand a bit closer, or lean in a bit further to say something in his ear.

“Some of them are so damn tiny and some of them are so big,” Jean pointed out, gazing at some of the tinier stingrays below their feet.

“Did you know that there are fresh-water stingrays, too?” Marco quipped, turning to Jean.

“What! No way! Why?”

“What? I can’t tell you why! But I saw it on River Monsters. Ugh, I love that show. In fact, I love any documentary-animal show type of things,” he babbled, ”Like Shark Week and--”

“Shark Week though!” Jean interrupted, his own excitement level rising, a smile pulling at his lips.

“Stingrays are closely related to sharks!” Marco hummed.

Jean laughed, legitimately interested in their conversation and Marco’s cute, apparently endless, footnotes of information. He looked down at the stingrays again.

“Hey, Marco. It’s you,” he pointed out.

Buried under a handful of sand was a very speckled brown stingray. It buried itself happily into the sand, swishing its fins and stinger to better conceal itself. It looked like a fucking happy ass stingray if Jean ever saw one.

Marco giggled.

“Fine. If this one is me, then that one is you,” he pointed over to a near by rock where a stingray sat, grumpily staring at the Marco stingray. Maybe Marco stingray took Jean stingray’s spot. As if on cue, it darted over and ran into the spotted stingray, pushing the other over so it too could have room in the sand.

Marco chuckled.

Jean, developing a spike of confidence, nudged Marco firmly, moving him a bit.

“Move over, sand hog,” Jean sneered.

Marco rammed back into Jean, sticking his tongue out.

“We can share!”

“But what if we can’t?”

Jean pushed against him once more.

“Then we’ll have to squish together to make room,” Marco hummed, pressing himself against his date, “Like penguins.”

“But we’re at the aquarium.”

“Then pretend penguins are fish, too.”

And with that, Marco planted a simple kiss on Jean’s cheek.

* * *

 

From then on, if they were dragging each other to another part of the exhibit, neither one of them wouldn’t take up the chance to grab the other’s hand in a firm hold.

At some point, when they were quietly staring at a large balloon jellyfish, calmly bobbing around in its watery home, the boys’ hands entwined together.

They stayed that way for the rest of the exhibit.

* * *

 

Dinner was actually a fairly complicated decision to make. Jean was hasty over what Marco liked yet Marco was insistent on making sure they wouldn’t spend too much money.

Eventually, after a bit of hesitant bickering, they agreed upon a small diner tucked in the corner of downtown.

Their waiter escorted them to a booth before scribbling down their ordered drinks.

Jean propped the menu up in front of his face, his eyebrows automatically pinching closer to one another. A frown oh so gracefully planted itself on his lips.

“Why do you always look so angry when you concentrate?” Marco asked aloud, leaning close and tugging down Jean’s menu.

His lips were upturned in a gentle smile.

This only caused Jean’s expression to sour just slightly.

“Excuse me?”

“When you concentrate, you look angry,” Marco repeated, turning his head a bit, “Like at the aquarium when you were reading something interesting about the sea horses, you just looked kinda angry.”

Jean blinked, hyper aware of his facial expression. With almost a bit too much effort, he tried to relax his face muttering, “I don’t mean to…”

“I think it’s cute,” Marco admitted.

Jean’s cheeks bloomed a rosy pink, his eyes averting downwards to his menu. Marco too, returned to scan his menu. He hummed softly and spoke quietly to himself, debating about what kind of food to order.

The other boy thought it was endearing to see Marco so gleeful, even if he was just ordering dinner. It was a nice change to see someone just be...happy because they could be.

Now, Jean’s dad was a happy guy, no doubt, but he wasn’t afraid to yell it to the world with all his might.  Marco, however, was a bit more introverted about it, and that fed into Jean’s newly found appreciation for this boy all together.

* * *

 

Jean had volunteered to drive Marco home, not only to make sure he made it home safe, but he may have definitely used it as an excuse to drag out their time together even longer. When Jean had offered, Marco politely declined, not wanting to impose. But Jean was persistent.

“Of course I’m sure, Marco! I’m not gonna let you sit on a dirty bus with weird people if I literally have a car right here that I can take you home in,” Jean insisted stubbornly, “Now get in the fucking jeep.”

Marco tsked and chuckled, dipping into the car and closing the door gingerly.

“Where do you live?”

“Just over to the south a bit. It’s probably about twenty or so minutes from where we are now.”

Jean nodded and started the engine. Marco pointedly and simply navigated Jean through winding streets to a small neighborhood shrouded in trees. It was beginning to get dark, and the sky was stained a multitude of bold colors stretching across the vastness. Clouds were smeared alongside the colors, blanketing their town in a soft earthy glow.

“Here’s the place!” Marco informed.

Jean peeked out his window. It was a fairly decent sized house, not too big, not too small. Pretty basic in shape, shrubbery surrounding the perimeter.

He parked the car.

Marco looked over at him, “I had a great time with you, Jean.”

Jean chuckled, “I did, too. I really did.”

There was a comfortable pause.

A jumble of phrases buzzed around Jean’s skull frantically as he tried to organize them in an understandable form.

“I want to do it again,” Jean confessed, looking up to meet Marco’s captivating eyes.

“I wouldn’t mind that at all.”

They both grinned, a blush slowly creeping up both of their faces.

 It didn’t take much. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t too long, but not a peck either.

When their lips pressed against each other’s, it was a warm feeling that pooled in the pit of Jean’s stomach. The sensation tingled and his heart spiked so fast he might as well have gone into cardiac arrest.

Their first kiss was gentle, simple and it was perfect.

* * *

 

“Are you still going out with Marco tonight, Jean?” Jean’s father called from his bedroom.

Jean finished scrubbing his teeth before he spat into the sink.

“Yeah! Almost done getting ready, actually,” he responded.

Jean checked himself over in the mirror once more.

Vest? Check. That awesome tie Marco got for him but never had an actual excuse to wear until now? Check. Perfect hair? Always.

Jean smirked to himself twisting and turning a bit to triple check that he was, in fact, presentable for his six month anniversary date with Marco.

A whistle split through the air.

“Looking sharp, kiddo,” Jean’s dad leaned against the bathroom door frame.

His son smiled back, fixing his lapels one last time (or so he promised himself).

“Thanks. Just hope I didn’t over-do it, I guess?” his brows furrowed.

“Naw. I’m sure Marco will be looking just as classy if not more.”

Jean’s eyes narrowed.

“Are you saying I’m not classy, old man?”

“You never have been more classy than that freckled boy of yours. You probably won’t be for a long ass time, either.”

A fist playfully shoved its way into the older man’s gut.

“Wow, you sure know how to boost a kid’s morale,” Jean muttered.

He took a second before looking his dad in the eye.

“Uhh...I haven’t said it before but, uh, thanks, Dad. For everything. Especially for...you know,” the teenager softly said, a light blush spraying his cheeks.

The older man’s playful and confident demeanour softened, his shoulders relaxing and his age settling down in the subtle wrinkles etched across his skin. He placed a large, calloused hand on his son’s shoulder.

“Jean. I’d do anything for you, you know. I just want you to be happy"-he smiled- “I’m just glad it worked out so well for the two of you. You’ve become so much happier and open to the world since Marco stepped into your life. And I’m so...so damn proud of you for being able to do that,” his father soothed, “I’ll always support you and what you decide to do.”

Jean swallowed thickly, snaking his thin arms around his father’s large figure.

He couldn’t really remember the last time he gave his dad a bear hug.

“Thanks, Dad.”

The doorbell chimed through the house, Jean jumping.

His stomach shrank and twisted. He still got so nervous when Marco showed up at the door. That boy, be damned, was always giving him butterflies.

Jean rushed to the door and swung it open.

“Marco!”

Marco laughed and flung himself onto his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around Jean’s shoulders and giving him a tight squeeze. Jean squeezed back without second thought. Being in each other’s arms felt so right...how had he lived without it for so long?

“I brought you a little something!” Marco chirped, pulling back.

“Why would you do that?”

“Because it’s our anniversary, silly!” the freckled boy pulled out a small paper bag, “Now here.”

Jean rolled his eyes and pressed his lips against Marco’s cheek. He slid his hand into the bag and rummaged around for a moment before dragging out a small keychain. It was a little metallic jellyfish, dangling innocently from a ring.

“It kinda signifies our first date or whatever,” Marco explained lamely, “since that was kind of an important thing.”

Jean marveled at it, holding it up to inspect the keychain closer. There were colored glass beads that studded the entire trinket, twinkling as it spun around and around.

He looked back at Marco, who was still blushing fervently.

“You nerd,” he mumbled, clipping it to his belt loop.

He yanked Marco into a loving kiss, unable to stop the wide smile that stretched his lips.

Marco responded, giggling.

“Now who would I be if I didn’t get you a gift, either?” Jean questioned after pulling away. He began to stride to the other side of the living room, Marco following close behind.

A box sat, wrapped neatly, on the dining room table. A simple blue bow topped it off. He offered it to Marco hesitantly.

A soft, “aww” slipped from Marco’s lips before he gently accepted it.

Careful not to make too much of a mess, he carefully unwrapped the present by cautiously plucking off the pieces of tape one by one.

“You’re supposed to tear into it like a normal person, Marco,” Jean mocked.

“And leave shreds of wrapping paper all over the place? I don’t think so,” Marco scoffed.

When he was finished, Marco set the paper aside and lifted the lid. Resting inside it was a plush pile of tissue paper cradling a large blue beanie. Marco lifted it and experimentally felt it with his hands. It was soft and made from a thick material.

“Since you were so mad about losing the one I had bought you earlier this year…” Jean mumbled, “Just decided to put you out of your misery and buy you a new one.”

Marco slipped it over his head, giddy and stuffed to the brim with joy. He was practically vibrating with excitement.

“Oh my god, Jean, I missed that beanie so much and this one is so much softer and warmer and oh my god why isn’t it winter yet!” he squeaked, unable to keep his hands from petting the thing.

Marco did a little hop and squished Jean’s face with his hands, kissing the living daylights out of him as he held their faces together.

“Thank you! Thank you!”

Jean laughed, taken aback by the enthusiasm, and kissed back none the less. He hummed against Marco’s now familiar lips and sighed.

“I don’t wanna take it off…”

“Then don’t.”

“But what if I’m not allowed to have a hat in the restaurant?” Marco pouted.

“Then we’ll tell them too bad because we’re paying them too much money to make us intricately chopped, small portions of food.”

Seemingly satisfied with that answer, Marco practically glowed and pulled his new beanie a bit further onto his head.

“Then shall we go?” Marco offered his arm.

Jean hooked it with his own.

“We shall.”

They kissed one more time before Jean lead them out the door, opening the passenger side of his car for Marco to slip in graciously.

After the headlights flickered out of sight, a proud Mr. Kirschtein gazed fondly out the window, a small smile lingering on his lips.

For everything Jean had been through in this last year, he had to admit that his son had done pretty alright for himself.   
Leaning against the screen door, Mr. Kirschstein shook his head with a little chuckle, “You sure would be proud of him, Adeline. Looks like your lil’ Jeanbo is gonna be alright after all.”

 


End file.
